


Northern Sky

by cloglover



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-06 19:58:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20512640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloglover/pseuds/cloglover
Summary: Remus visits his mother in an attempt to reconnect with himself and his place as an outsider. He finds his life is more intertwined with others' than he thought.





	Northern Sky

  
  


On this particular September evening Remus found himself in Sirius and James’ shared flat in London. Peter had gone to pick up curry from their favorite place across the street. James had tagged along with him to fetch the booze, and while Remus hoped for a nice amber ale, he knew that James had a taste for a hearty stout, so it wasn’t likely. Sirius had put the kettle on with a flick of his wand, and within minutes a mug branded #1 Nan floated his way, its muddy brown contents threatening to spill over the sides. 

“Going to Dearborn’s tomorrow?” 

Remus eyed him over the lip of his mug. “Suppose so.” 

“Liar. You’ve skipped out on every party for the past three weeks.” He whined, “We miss you, mate.” 

Remus’ chest tightened. He’d been avoiding these sort of things for a reason.The last time he’d gone out with the intention of socializing he had spent the entire evening nursing the same glass of cabernet, trailing his three friends like a hungry stray cat. Eventually they separated, James off with Lily necking like a couple of fifth years on the couch, Peter nervously chatting up a pretty brunette witch with comically large hoop earrings, and Sirius just… gone. Leaving Remus with his thoughts, and his wine, and his sweaty palms. He highly doubted they missed him, his patented Irish Goodbye had gone far too smoothly for that to be the case. 

“I’ll come. Promise.” 

“Pinky swear?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.” 

Sirius winced, “Don’t say that.” 

Remus shrugged. 

The door swung open and James charged in lugging more beer any reasonable person could carry, as James was, famously, far from reasonable. Peter was not far behind, followed by the sweetly spiced aroma of chicken tikka masala. Remus allowed himself to forget about Caradoc Dearborn’s party briefly to appreciate that  _ this  _ was the kind of social gathering he enjoyed. He liked hot curry, foregoing his shoes for a pair of plush wool socks, and a wild punk record playing on the phonograph.

By the time he arrived home his pleasant buzz had worn off, leaving him dry mouthed and jittery. Remus lived quite a ways out of town, Sirius had begged him to stay in London with the group, but the lack of neighbors and the space that the country provided allowed him some peace of mind. He was renting what was maybe once a nice place, now something of a fixer upper. Remus couldn’t complain as it was in his budget and  _ reparo _ was a year one spell. He didn’t have much there, but he’d managed a twin sized bed, a small wooden table, a lumpy patchwork couch, and he’d inherited his mother’s transistor radio. He also had a few small oil paintings adorning the walls of which she had painted. He stripped down to a pair of white boxer briefs and a cotton tee shirt and sunk into sleep to the tinny ramblings of Nick Drake over the radio.

Remus woke at dawn. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up to process the waking world. He was, obviously, not going to Dearborn’s. He took a bath, as his home lacked a standing shower, and changed into something halfway decent. He packed himself a rucksack with clean shirts and a few pairs of underwear, pulled on his hiking boots, and head out. He was going to see his mum.

Remus had learned at an early age to be satisfied with being just outside of the fold. He liked to be an observer. He attributed this trait to his mother, who lived on the fringe. She was a muggle by every iteration of the word, but she had more magic in her pinky finger than Remus and his father combined. When the neighborhood children called him odd, she’d remind him that there was nothing worthwhile about being normal. She buoyed every social wave expertly, and had taught him to do the same. Which was probably why he felt so inclined to drop everything and revisit his roots. He’d gotten so caught up in the expectations of others, so used to being part of a group. When you crave connection, it’s easy to look for it in all the wrong places. Perhaps he had been relying too heavily on his friends to fill that need in him to belong. Maybe he had to relearn how to be an outsider. 

He had made a promise to his mother some time ago that whenever he came home, he wasn’t to do so by magical means. He had to appreciate the journey there and tell her all about it once he made it in over a cuppa. With this in mind, he waited for the train to Cardiff. All around there were commuters milling about their days, heading to the office or home from a night shift behind the bar. Remus bobbed back and forth on his heels, checking his watch every so often. By now he should be seeing plumes of steam and hearing the shrill whistle of arrival. The train was late. 

Cardiff was only the first stop of his journey, from there he had to take a bus, then a cab. A day’s worth of travel at least. He had been such a patient kid before he fell into the wrong crowd, now he couldn’t help but tap his foot and peer over the line, as if by his vision alone the train would appear in front of him. He was a skilled wizard, sure, but not that skilled. Beside him a woman who looked to be about sixty cracked her knuckles one by one. She pulled out a small bronze box and opened it up to reveal a row of long, thin, winter white cigarettes. She lit one, inhaled deeply, and let out a shuddering sigh. Smoke spilled from her nostrils and lips, reminding Remus of Lily’s dragon shaped incense statuette.

“Would you like one, love?” She must have noticed him staring. Remus politely declined, shaking his head.

Fifteen minutes passed and he was growing anxious. About a minute ago he had accepted the older woman’s offer, who he now knew to be named Marie. 

“I just don’t understand why there was no announcement! We deserve information!” Remus angrily puffed on his cigarette. He rolled it between his fingers, saturating them in the thick scent of tobacco. 

“I ought to call my son and tell him I’ll be late. Didn’t happen to see a pay phone around did you, dear?” He hadn’t, and it appeared as though they were the only two prospective passengers of this line to Wales. 

“My son just had my first grandchild,” Marie beamed at him, forgetting the payphone. “A baby girl. Born a week early! Imagine that!” 

“Congratulations, that’s really wonderful.”

“I don’t want to be called Nan, or Granny, or anything that makes me sound old, though. What do you think of Bubby?” Remus coughed to disguise a laugh.

“Bubby! Very modern, I like it.”

Marie waved at him playfully. 

At long last the train pulled into the station, it’s chugging music to his ears. Remus helped Marie aboard, lifting her luggage before she could protest. She invited him to sit beside her and he happily obliged, her company was soothing, and their previous conversation had charmed him to her. Cigarettes were a nasty habit but they had the power to bring unlikely friends together. 

They sat in satisfied silence for the duration of the train ride. Marie had fallen asleep against the window, and Remus watched over her head as storm clouds rolled in over the tree line. He’d brought a book with him but couldn’t find it in him to focus on the words.  _ The Well of Loneliness  _ remained half read in his lap, but served well as a lunch tray on which he laid out a cheese sandwich and blackberries on the ass end of ripeness. He plucked a swollen fruit from the napkin and it exploded in his hand, its black juice staining his fingers. He was reminded of a poem his mother liked and smiled to himself. 

_ Like thickened wine: summer's blood was in it _

_ Leaving stains upon the tongue and lust for _

_ Picking. Then red ones inked up and that hunger _

_ Sent us out with milk cans, pea tins, jam-pots _

_ Where briars scratched and wet grass bleached our boots. _

Remus finished his sandwich and allowed a full stomach to lull him to sleep as well, and when he awoke Marie was gone and the last remaining bodies on the carriage were spilling out in single file.

The air was heavy with the smell of metal, a sign that rain was soon to come. His hair curled as moisture collected in the atmosphere. In his rush to leave as quickly as possible, he had forgotten to pack an umbrella. He had no problem with rain, but he did have a problem with the way it made people act. Rain triggered an instinctual reaction in all people, muggle and wizard alike, which was to totally panic. Remus attributed this to his troglodyte ancestors, and made his peace by acknowledging that at some point in history, this instinct may have saved his great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandmother’s life and is the reason why he was alive today to complain about rainstorm induced chaos.

With a thunderous crack the sky opened up and within seconds Remus was completely drenched. A middle aged man pushed past him with his briefcase raised above his head in a rather ineffective attempt to shield himself from the downpour. Manners and politeness must have washed down the storm drains along with the city’s cigarette butts. His curls were now plastered to his forehead and his clothes merely a second skin, Remus figured he was about as wet as wet could be. The sidewalks were completely empty, but the roads were bumper to bumper. According to the schedule he grabbed at the railway, the bus to Llantwit Major was still an hour out, which meant he had some time to kill. The nearest pub was one he instantly recognized. Due to its reputation Remus had never been brave enough to go in, and just the thought of doing so made him itchy. 

He slid into a bar stool keeping his vision forward, too anxious to catch anyone’s eye. He sat rigid, knees pressed together, shoulders square, and nails digging crescent moons into his palms. 

“What’ll it be, love?” 

“Uh…” Heat bloomed in his ears and cheeks. What did normal people drink? “Brandy! Please.” 

The bartender smiled knowingly and nodded. He placed a crystalline glass in front of Remus, half full with the syrupy brown liquor. 

“First time?” The bartender’s eyes were warm, maybe a little amused, and his face was a riverbed of laugh lines.

“Sorry?”

“Have you ever been here before?” 

“Oh! No. No, I haven’t. I’m just passing through.” 

“Well, Just Passing Through, I’m Lamar.” 

“Remus, actually. My name I mean.” The last time he remembered being this tongue tied he had been eleven years old and Albus Dumbledore was in his living room. 

“Are you always this good with words, Remus?” Lamar polished a beer chalice, held it up to the lamplight to check for spots, then set it on the shelf behind him.

“I have to admit, I’ve always wanted to come here but…” Remus trailed off. What was he supposed to say? The truth? That he was terrified that by actually walking through the doors of a known queer haunt he was putting a name to something dark and buried, and that by doing so he would wake it up? He had his fill of dark and awake every full moon, thank you very much. 

“You don’t have to explain. That’s how it is for everyone here.” Lamar gestured towards the other patrons, people of all genders mingling, flirting, and touching with reckless abandon. Remus’ heart swelled. 

“If my friends only knew where I was right now.” Giddy, nervous laughter bubbled inside him. He relaxed a little, loosening his posture. Nobody knew about this side of him, not Sirius, not James, not Peter, not even his mother. To Remus, there were two types of secrets. There were secrets that ate at you, that sat on the back of your teeth just waiting for the right moment to come out. Then there were secrets that felt like this one. 

A very tall, girthy drag queen dressed head to toe in rhinestones walked, or rather floated towards them. Her red wig had an impossible height to it, a perfectly styled beehive. Her eyelids were caked in purple eyeshadow, and her lips were the color of wine. She leaned against the bar and ordered a martini, by her accent alone Remus could tell she was American. Her voice was deep, and she spoke with a soft lisp. She flashed him a grin, her teeth were spectacularly white and uniform, another indication of her nationality. She was a vision. 

“Ruby’s a legend, she’s about to go on if you can stick around for it.” Remus checked his watch, he had about thirty minutes. 

It seemed as though the whole world had dimmed once Ruby stepped on ‘stage’(a wooden platform in the far corner). The boombox switched on and Remus had never heard the kazoo, tambourine, and the bongos come together so naturally. 

_ You’re my honey bee!  _

_ Come on and sting me! _

Two men who had been sitting together abandoned their chairs to hold each other close on the dance floor. They swayed in tandem and beamed at Ruby as she mouthed along with Gloria Gaynor. One of the men hooked a finger through his dance partner’s belt loop, and to Remus it was the most intimate, romantic thing he’d ever seen. He ached. 

Lamar didn’t give a bill for the brandy, but in good conscience Remus left a tenner under the glass. He arrived at the terminal at the exact moment the bus pulled up in front. The rain had let up, now only a gentle drizzle. If the sun were out, it’d be high in the sky. Somewhere a church bell rang, it was noon. Surprisingly, Remus had made pretty good timing so far. With luck on his side he could make it home just before dinner. 

\--

The path to Hope Lupin’s cottage home was long and winding. Persistent weeds and wildflowers peeked out of the time eroded truck tracks, the last vestiges of summer. Dusk descended quickly, the orange of afternoon lapsing into cool purples and blues. Gravel crunched under Remus’ boots as he came up on the entreeway, the garden had grown substantially since he’d last been home, but aside from that nothing had changed. A citronella lantern swung from the porch banister in the breeze, and the toads croaked in greeting upon his return. His mother was crouched over a budding sweet pea plant, admiring its verdant leaves. She was dressed plainly in a faded pair of overalls, a navy knit sweater, and muddy galoshes. Her curly silver hair nested at the top of her head in a messy pile. Warmth pooled in Remus’ stomach.

“Hey, Mum.” 

If Hope were an owl, her head would have spun 180 degrees. She shot up, brushing the dirt off her knees and hands and wrapped him in her arms. He let his rucksack slide off his shoulders, and gave her a crooked smile. 

“You couldn’t have sent a letter? No call to say you were coming?” She held his head in her hands, examining him much like she had the pea plant and softened. “You’re getting so handsome.” 

Remus flushed and swatted her hands away. “It was kind of a last minute thing. Didn’t want you to worry.” 

“Oh Remus, I always worry.” She patted his shoulder, then took his bag from him to bring inside. “Are you hungry? I was about to make some spaghetti.” 

Once inside Hope found a copper pot in the cupboard and boiled water, making sure to salt it first. She put on a Fairport Convention record, set to an eerily appropriate track. Remus loved to watch his mother cook. She was no professional, but he was positive that if she had pursued it as a career she would have been famous. In a saucepan slick with olive oil she browned garlic and cooked down onions until translucent. She added diced tomatoes from her garden, ripe and red with the smell of soil on their skin, a squeeze of lemon, and a fistful of smoky basil. She sent him outside to pick mint for their tea and Remus felt ten years old again. 

_ Across the evening sky, all the birds are leaving _

_ But how can they know it's time for them to go? _

_ Before the winter fire, I will still be dreaming _

_ I have no thought of time _

_ For who knows where the time goes? _

_ Who knows where the time goes? _

\--

In London inside Caradoc Dearborn’s apartment, Sirius Black was blowing smoke out of a second story bathroom window. He was perched atop the toilet, his clunky combat boots left scuff marks on the lid. Truthfully, he hated these parties. He hated watching everyone pretend like nothing was wrong, like death wasn’t on their doorstep. He’d been hanging around Remus too much and his constant worrying had rubbed off. Or maybe he was growing up. He grimaced at the thought. On the topic of Remus, he expectedly had not shown up. It was still early in the night, but if he had intended to come, Remus Lupin would have been on time. He flicked the cigarette out the window and watched its glowing ember fly onto the sidewalk and go out. Sirius picked himself up and left the bathroom. Outside the door Dorcas gasped “Finally!” and pushed past him.

Something about Remus’ absence on this specific evening had thrown him off balance. James was his best friend, and Peter not far behind, he always had a good time with them, but Remus was different. Remus had always been different. This hadn’t come to his attention until very recently, when James had made fun of him for ignoring everyone else to ‘moon over Moony’. Since then Sirius had gone out of his way to avoid Remus, spending hours hopping from witch to pretty witch. In hindsight this was really stupid. Really, really stupid. Who cares what anyone else thought? Not him! Sirius’  _ thing  _ for Remus had been, well, a thing for quite some time. Now that Sirius slowed down long enough to notice, and now that he  _ had noticed _ … he had no idea what to do about it. He just knew that he missed him, regardless of the fact that they had just seen each other the day before. He missed him all the time. Reminders of Remus were everywhere. In record store windows displaying Tim Buckley LPs, in novelty mugs sold at souvenir shops, in itchy socks, in sunrises and shared spliffs. Everywhere. He felt like an idiot. 

He found James and Lily tangled together on a ratty leather couch, James already drunk with his head on Lily’s shoulder, her fingers were carding through his messy hair. 

“Oi,” He kicked James’ foot with his own, “I’m heading out.”

“Already? It’s only-er- Lil, wha’s the time?”

“It’s only eight o’clock.” She supplied. 

“Yeah, I know. Just bored, see you at the flat, though.” Before waiting for a response Sirius was out the door and down the staircase. He stood at the street corner and held his wand above his head for the Night Bus. Would Remus be mad when he showed up out of the blue? He shook his head, better to ask forgiveness than permission. 

He arrived at Remus’ only to find the lights off and the door locked. There was however, in classic Remus Lupin fashion, a note. 

_ Out of town for the week. Please leave all mail on doorstep. If this is Sirius reading this, sorry I couldn’t make it to Caradoc’s party, I was feeling homesick. _

_ Warm regards, _

_ Remus _

How had he known Sirius would come over unannounced? Was he really that predictable? He balled the note in his fist and shoved it in his pocket. Sirius was now at a crossroads. His head was telling him to go home, have himself a nightcap, and go to bed. His heart however...

Moments later he was on the Night Bus again on his way to Middle of Nowhere, Wales. His leg bobbed anxiously, this was an awfully grand gesture. When Remus asked why he was there, what was he going to say? “I missed you and couldn’t wait five to seven days to see you again. Oh, by the way, I think about you more than I think about breathing.” Sirius groaned, hitting his head on the back of his chair. There was no turning back now, he’d already made a decision and as a rule he never second guessed himself, never backtracked. 

Sirius was practically thrown off the bus into the night. The Night Bus wasn’t known for being gentle, but Merlin would it hurt? He started up the dirt path, an uphill climb towards the flicker of light in the distance where he knew the Lupin home to be. His nerves had long abandoned him and were replaced by stomach flipping anticipation along with pangs of hunger, he had forgotten to eat dinner in all the excitement of the evening. A sliver of moonlight hung in the sky, the full was at least three weeks away. 

Remus reclined in a rocking chair on the porch, legs tucked in and a notebook in his lap. He chewed on a pencil thoughtfully, wrote something down, then erased it again. Moths circled the lanterns above him. 

“Working hard or hardly working?” Sirius called out, he shoved his hands into his pockets and sauntered towards Remus in an attempt to appear nonchalant.

“What on  _ earth  _ are you doing here?” 

“Oh just decided to drop in for a surprise visit. London’s boring.”

“So the Welsh countryside was a logical destination for some fun then?” Remus tried to sound annoyed but failed miserably. There was an amused lilt in his voice, and the frown he forced on his lips quirked upwards. 

“Happy to see me?” Sirius joked, though he wasn’t really joking. 

“Always.” Remus’ smile was wide and genuine. The honesty of it made Sirius shiver. 

“Remus, love, I’m putting the kettle on- Oh!” Hope Lupin popped her head out the window overlooking the porch. “I guess I’ll take out another mug then.” 

“Hey, Mrs. Lupin, sorry for the short notice.” Sirius really hadn’t thought this through. He hadn’t even brought a bag with him. 

Hope’s smile mirrored her son’s, wide and warm and patient. “Don’t be ridiculous.” 

**Author's Note:**

> This is a two part story, part two should be up shortly! Thank you so much for reading. This fic is heavily influenced by an amazing fic by orestesfasting called Light in August that is a Must Read. 
> 
> Featured artists and songs:
> 
> Northern Sky by Nick Drake
> 
> the poem Blackberry Picking by Seamus Heaney
> 
> Honeybee by Gloria Gaynor
> 
> Who Knows Where the Time Goes by Fairport Convention


End file.
